


The Day After

by kronette



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Humor, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 01:24:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This started as a top ten list of Signs that MacLeod's New Year's Party Might Have Gone Overboard, but I couldn't stop at just that (and thanks so much for the help, Bren and Pam!!).  So here it is, my New Year pressie to everyone!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Day After

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted, I assume, January 1, 1996 under my real name.

Duncan MacLeod groaned, rolling over and putting his pillow over his head. He felt terrible. His head was singing with three other Immortal's Buzzes, he had a hangover that he didn't just _feel_ , but _lived_ , and as he lifted his head, sunlight shot even more pain straight through to his brain, and he groaned louder.

"Shut up MacLeod," Amanda moaned, pulling herself from the floor to a sitting position, hanging onto the corner of the bed for dear life. She rested her head against the tangled sheets, taking deep breaths to calm her dizzying head. "And quit Buzzing!"

"You quit Buzzing," MacLeod hissed back, throwing a pillow in her general direction. "I need coffee."

"I need it more than you do," Amanda whimpered, dragging herself across the floor. She reached for the wall and pulled herself to her feet, stopping to try to smooth down her hair, which was sticking up at all possible angles. Feeling as if she were performing a tightrope act again, she held her arms out, balancing herself as she made her way from the bed to the kitchen.

A strange sound brought Richie Ryan back from the drudges of sleep. He blinked wearily, rubbing at his eyes as he tried to orient himself. Buzzing filled his head. He braved looking around, despite the cheerful and bright sunlight bouncing through the loft. He was on the floor, one leg on the coffee table, his body contorted at odd angles. He should be hurting, but all he felt was numbness...except in his head. Groaning, he tried to sit up, but his arms wouldn't cooperate. "Help," he called weakly, his throat dry and scratchy. He tried to wet his lips, but his tongue felt like sandpaper. His head dropped back down to the floor, and he heard that strange sound again. It sounded like...cats wailing.

Joe Dawson groaned heavily, keeping his arm flung over his eyes. He should have known better. Having a drinking contest with Immortals, two of which that had over one thousand years to build up tolerance, was a stupid idea. He worked his tongue, ecstatically happy that it appeared to be alive. He still wasn't sure about the rest of him. A sound caught his attention, and he shifted, trying to block it out. The sound grew in volume, and he tried harder to block it out. Finally, he tested his voice. "Kill it! Please, kill it!" he called, his plea almost drown out by the wailing.

Duncan groaned, trying desperately to figure out where that gawdawful sound was coming from. He fell off the bed, a rolled up sock bouncing off his head, and he batted at it in slow motion. He drug himself across the floor on hands and knees to the CD player, pushing at buttons until the wails stopped.

"Thank God!" Joe whispered loudly.

"Shut up!" Richie hissed from the floor, tossing a beer can at the Watcher. The can bounced off the top of the couch and rolled into a very lovely model of the Great Wall of China made out of other beer cans. The Wall shattered in a burst of sound, drawing groans from the three people in the living area.

Amanda held her head and snapped her eyes shut. Unable to see, she stepped on another model, this time of the Eiffel Tower, made out of beer caps. Cursing in four languages, she held her injured foot, hopping toward the counter until she leaned against the refrigerator. "What in the hell was that?" she called, rubbing her injured toes.

"I have no idea," Duncan answered, panting from the exertion. He tried to get to his feet, but something was wrong with his legs. He struggled to bend his knees, but something was holding them together. He blinked, trying to focus, and finally the redness of his legs came into view. He started crying, thinking his legs had been cut off and he was bleeding. But as his eyesight cleared up, he saw that it was a t-shirt. It was carefully pulled up, his feet sticking through the arms, holding him practically immobile. "Help!" he cried weakly, starting to kick.

Joe turned his head toward the bedroom, wincing as pain shot down his neck. "Mac? You all right?" he called, ignoring Richie's soft pleas to keep quiet.

"Not," came the helpless wail. "I can't get up. There's something on my legs."

Despite the blinding pain right behind his eyes, Richie rose to a more or less sitting position. "Mac? What is it?"

Helpless giggles emanated from the bedroom, then Duncan's voice called, "I canna get up. Someone help me!"

Still cursing, Amanda hobbled over to the bed. "Duncan?" she whispered, holding on to the entertainment center for balance. As she focused on MacLeod's legs, she spluttered, then quickly covered her mouth.

"What is it?" Joe called from the couch.

"It's...it's," Amanda burst into muffled laughter, watching as MacLeod rolled onto his side, still fighting with the t-shirt. "Richie, I think it's yours."

"Mine? My what?" the youngest Immortal in the room asked, hauling himself to his feet with a grunt. He stumbled over to Amanda's side and peered down at MacLeod.

Duncan lay on the floor, his hair flying everywhere, the t-shirt pushed down to his knees. "Donna just stand there, help me out of these!" he bellowed.

The sight of MacLeod, Richie's t-shirt firmly encasing his legs, together with MacLeod's helpless look, was too much. Richie lost it. Staggering away from the sight, Richie made it back to the couch, kicking more of the Great Wall down in the process. He reached for Joe's hand and caught it, just as he started to slip to the floor. "Mac. He...he," Richie gasped, tears leaking out of his eyes.

Joe watched Richie laughing helplessly and started snickering himself, growing to full blown laughter as Richie's face turned red, matching his hair. Amanda slid down the cabinet, her face covered by her hands as she laughed uncontrollably.

Duncan pouted as only he could, exaggerated hurt marring his features. "Yew are all cruel," he moaned, succeeding in getting one foot out of the armhole. He tugged and grunted, nearly ripping the seams, but finally, his foot popped free of the t-shirt. Holding it triumphantly in front of him, Duncan gloated, "Didna need your help."

Amanda wiped her face, then straightened her sweater. "Of course not, oh brave warrior!" she mocked him, almost succeeding in keeping a straight face. "You defeated the Great..." she snickered, "Shirt du Ryan," she choked, falling sideways as laughter overtook her again.

"I donna think it's funny," MacLeod declared haughtily, struggling to his feet. He flicked the shirt, trying to get some of the deep creases out of it, then draped it over his arm. He walked unsteadily over to Richie and presented him with his shirt with a slight bow. "I believe this belongs ta yew."

Richie struggled to keep his face solemn as he accepted his shirt. "Thank you kind sir," he replied, starting to laugh again, then he stopped. He stared down at the shirt in his hands, flashes of the night before coming back to him. "Mac, how did this end up on you?"

"How would I know?" MacLeod shrugged. He winced as he caught a look at the dazzling sky outside. "Coffee. I need coffee," he murmured, stepping over what was left of the Great Wall to the kitchen.

"Get me some too," Joe called from the couch, succeeding in getting himself upright. As he straightened his legs, he noticed his shirt, and frowned. "This isn't mine."

"What's that Joe?" Amanda asked, coming back into the living area. She studied the mortal and the sky blue silk shirt he was wearing, then shrugged. "Looks like Duncan's to me."

"How'd it get on me?" Joe asked, glaring accusatorially at the general area of the kitchen.

Richie picked himself up off the floor, glancing to Amanda. "Wait, isn't that your sweater, Joe?" Richie asked, pointing at Amanda.

Amanda looked down, running her hand over the dark green knit. "I think so. It's not mine," she declared.

"It's mine," Joe whispered, unable to take his eyes off the way his sweater hung on Amanda. It had never looked that good on him, that was for sure.

"I think that's a far more interesting question," Richie asked, grinning. At Amanda's confused look, he elaborated, "How you ended up wearing Joe's clothes."

"Hey, MacLeod was wearing _your_ shirt - on his legs," Amanda pointed out, crossing her arms defensively. "So don't get smart with me."

"Well I certainly didn't put them there!" Richie declared, flushing hotly.

"Are you sure?" Joe taunted, having way too much fun for the way he felt.

"Quit arguing," Duncan called from the kitchen. The smell of coffee pulled everyone's attention, and they retreated to the kitchen, Richie and Amanda supporting Joe. Hot mugs were poured and passed around, and everyone settled down a bit.

Duncan gulped half his cup, clenching his fist as he felt the hot liquid burn his throat. After a few minutes he spoke. "It doesn't matter how it got there. Obviously, we were all cold, and just grabbed whatever was handy."

Joe started to nod in agreement, but Richie cut in with a question. "But how did our clothes get off of us in the first place?"

"We'll remember what happened in a few minutes," Amanda said to the assembled group. "Once the hangover is gone, it all comes back to you."

"Maybe you," Joe answered, "But not me."

"We'll fill in any missing details," Duncan promised his friend, winking.

Joe groaned, just as Amanda snapped her fingers. "Cards!"

All three men looked at her. "What?" they said in unison.

"Cards. We were playing strip poker," she reminded them, going over to the living area to the coffee table. She picked up a few scattered cards and held them for all to see. "See? I even remember winning a few hands," she purred, running a card along her lower lip as she stared at Joe.

Joe blushed, and had to look away.

Richie laughed. "Then I guess I lucked out, cuz I wasn't wearing anyone's clothes when I woke up." All three looked at him, and he blushed as red as his hair. "Well, I mean, that is . . ."

Duncan patted him on the shoulder. "That's okay Rich. It just means you're a lousy poker player."

"You didn't do so good yourself," Richie shot back, looking pointedly at MacLeod's white silk boxers.

Duncan looked down, then frowned. "But these are mine."

"I know they are," Amanda vouched for him, walking over and running her hands along his bare chest. "But you did have Richie's shirt on your legs."

Duncan groaned, hiding his face in his hands. "I know, I know. I hope I don't remember how that happened."

Richie suddenly burst into laughter. "I do! Amanda had just bluffed you for the third straight hand, you were getting mad, and she threatened to make you strip all the way. You refused, grabbed my t-shirt and pulled it on fast. Man, you should have seen the look on your face!"

"I can't even remember it!" Duncan snarled, though his face grew warm with color. He glared up at the woman behind him. "What about you, Amanda? How'd you get into Joe's sweater?"

The female Immortal pursed her lips, thinking. "It had to happen during the poker game. I distinctly remember challenging you," she pointed to Joe, "about one of the deals."

"What'd I do?" Joe asked, downing some more of the coffee. *His* memory hadn't improved any, thought it looked like the Immortals were remembering everything.

All three Immortals stared hard at him. "You fixed it so I would lose," Amanda challenged.

"Yes, you did Joseph," Duncan chimed in, halting Dawson's attempted denial.

"Yeah, stacking the deck, I believe?" Richie added his opinion with a quirked eyebrow.

Joe flushed hotly under their intense scrutiny. "I can't remember!" he cried defensively. "I've never had to cheat at poker. If I did, it was because you all had an advantage over me."

"Advantage?" Duncan's disbelief was thick in his voice.

"Advantage," Joe confirmed. "After all, I've only had 30 or so years to perfect my game. She," he pointed to Amanda, "has had over a thousand."

Amanda brushed her knuckles on Joe's sweater. "I am good," she purred.

"Puh-leese!" Duncan groaned, turning and getting more coffee.

Richie yawned, then rubbed his arms. "I'm cold." He got up and pulled on his t-shirt, then looked around for his pants. "Okay, who's seen my pants?" He walked over to the living area, and stopped dead in his tracks. "Uh, guys, I don't remember this."

"What now?" Duncan sighed, afraid to look.

Richie tilted his head, stepping carefully over Joe's guitar. "It looks like an altar of some sort...with Barbie dolls." He tilted his head the other way. "I think they are, anyway. The guy could be GI Joe."

"What dolls...oh," Amanda's eyes lit up. "The virgin sacrifice!" she squealed, dashing across the loft to Richie.

"Virgin sacrifice?" Joe questioned, looking to MacLeod.

"I have no idea," the Scotsman replied quietly, opting to stay far away from Amanda at this stage.

Richie suddenly smiled. "Now I remember. I don't know who brought 'em, but we offered Barbie here as a sacrifice to Father Time or something. And...I believe you played these, Mac," he called, holding up bagpipes.

Duncan paled. "Oh, no," he whispered.

"Is my guitar over there?" Joe asked, starting to look around for his prize possession.

"Yes, Joe," Amanda called back. "Along with one harmonica," she tossed the instrument to Richie. "Must've been some blues jam," she sighed wistfully.

"Wish we had recorded it," Richie shook his head sadly. "Might've sold millions."

"Uh, guys, how about we sort our clothes out and get moving?" MacLeod started to take charge, suddenly feeling the need to get everyone out of his loft. He wasn't remembering something, but he remembered enough that he didn't want to remember what it was.

"Hey, Richie, what's that on your thigh?" Amanda asked as the young Immortal flopped on the couch.

Richie bent his leg to inspect it. "I'm not sure. Looks like ink . . ." he started rubbing at it, then stopped. "Uh, Joe, are your Watcher tattoos permanent?"

"Yes they are. Why?" Joe asked, turning to face Richie.

Richie swallowed hard. "Um, because I think that's what I have on my leg."

"What?" Joe pulled up his sleeve, checking his wrist. Sure enough, his tattoo was gone. "This is impossible!"

Duncan turned over Joe's wrist, then turned over his other one. "Dawson, it's on your _left_ wrist, not your right," MacLeod teased his friend. "I think you need more coffee."

Joe sighed with relief. "I think I need a heart transplant after that," he murmured, checking for himself.

"I found your pants!" Amanda declared with a triumphant shout. She pulled them off the mantle and tossed them to Richie.

"How did they...no. I don't want to know," Richie waved to Amanda, then pulled on the jeans. "I'm sure I'll be humiliated enough when I remember; I don't need to be reminded in front of all of you."

"Oh, thank you very much, mister fun," Amanda cracked sarcastically, tossing a sock at Richie. "I hope that's yours too."

Richie frowned. "I don't remember. Mac?" he tossed the sock to MacLeod, who caught it deftly.

"Nope, not mine. Joe?" Duncan passed the sock to Dawson, who nodded.

"Guilty as charged. Don't suppose you know where the other one is, do you?" Before he got the sentence out, something hit him in the back of the head. "Thanks," he called, bending to retrieve his sock's partner. "Well, that gives me most of my wardrobe. I just need my cane."

"I need my shoes," Richie declared, casting a lazy glance around the living area.

"I need my...dress," Amanda answered distractedly. "Has anyone seen my dress?" she asked, starting to pick up pillows and couch cushions.

Duncan gave a half-hearted glance around the loft. "Did you check the bed?" he asked.

Amanda waved at him over her shoulder, then went into the bedroom. She emerged a minute later, carrying a pair of pants and some socks. "Here MacLeod," she tossed the clothes to him. "Looks like you need them."

"Didn't find your dress?" Richie asked, holding one of his shoes as he looked for its partner.

"No. And it's red, so you could hardly miss it," she answered, chewing on her fingernail as she glanced once again around the loft.

"Wait," Duncan said, holding up the jeans. "These aren't mine."

"They aren't mine," Richie answered, tugging at the cloth on his legs for emphasis.

"Mine either," Joe tossed back, "Cuz _I_ kept my pants _on_ the entire evening."

Duncan shot Joe a scathing look. "Well, I can't fit in these. They're too narrow." He held up the socks. "These aren't mine either." His arms fell to his side as his eyes connected with Amanda's across the room. "Oh, no."

"I found the pants tangled in the sheets, and the socks were beside the bed," Amanda confirmed for him. She smiled coyly. "Looks like you might have had the most fun, MacLeod."

Duncan started to shake his head. "No. Oh, no. We couldn't have. I would remember *that*," he declared.

"So where is the old guy?" Amanda asked, sweeping her gaze through the loft as if she expected him to magically appear.

"I hope he didn't go downstairs," Joe mused.

"I'll check," Richie volunteered, taking the stairs down to the dojo.

"He has to be here somewhere. Wait," Amanda held up her hand, tilting her head. "Do you hear that?"

Duncan listened, then nodded. "Bathroom."

The two Immortals walked quickly to the closed door, flinging it open. Amanda gasped, clamping her hand over her mouth. Duncan stared in shock.

The oldest living Immortal was asleep in the bathtub, snoring lightly. His head was tilted back, one arm draped over the edge of the tub, holding a spatula. His other hand was tucked to his chest, cradling what looked like one of Richie's shoes. One leg flopped over the edge of the tub, while the other was bent, his knee leaning on the side of the tub. Toilet paper was wrapped loosely around his head like a turban, one piece moving as he breathed.

"Well, I never," Amanda huffed, turning her back to the spectacle.

"What? What is it?" Joe demanded, his eyes flicking from her to Duncan.

"Methos. He's wearing Amanda's dress," Duncan's voice drifted back to Joe. "And it looks quite good on him."

"It does *not,*" Amanda protested, turning back around. "I think he has it on backwards, anyway. It wasn't that low cut in the front."

"But you do have to admit, the sequins really set off the turban," Duncan mused. "Too bad he doesn't have the shoes; it would be a complete outfit then."

A new Buzz hit the two Immortals, and they turned as Richie came back to the loft. "Well, he's not downstairs," Richie announced, jumping back as everyone shushed him.

"Shh! We found him," Joe pointed to the bathroom. "He's in there."

"In there?" Richie pointed as well, and started to giggle. He joined Amanda and Duncan at the doorway, and let out a low whistle. "I don't think he has the body for spandex."

"Oh, he has the body for it," Amanda fumed, waving at the prone Immortal. "It's just that he's ruining it! He's stretching it all out," she pouted.

"Oh, I don't know," Duncan murmured. His eyes drifted down Methos' chest, barely half-covered by the stretchy fabric, the straps hugging his upper arms. MacLeod's gaze traveled down Methos' body, down his long legs, made longer by the micro dress. Duncan's eye was drawn to the bunched up fabric at Methos' waist; in the dim light, he could just make out the darkness between Methos' thighs, and he sighed. "I'd say he's stretching it in all the right places."

Amanda's eyes had glazed over as she stared at the five thousand year old man. "I see your point," she murmured, rubbing a finger along her lower lip. "This is too good to pass up. Let's get a picture," she begged, placing her hand on MacLeod's arm.

Duncan shook his head, though kept his eyes on Methos. "He'd kill us."

"Yeah," Richie added nervously.

"What better way to get even for all his smart remarks?" Amanda prodded. "Besides, he was the one who brought that awful booze. What was it, anyway?"

"He didn't say," Joe answered, "But it was potent."

"That was his drink, wasn't it?" Richie rubbed his neck, remembering the headache he had woken up with. Amanda nodded.

Duncan smiled wickedly. "Be right back." He went to the bedroom to find his camera, leaving Amanda and Richie by the door.

"Psst." Joe waved over the two Immortals. ""Here," he pressed two shoes into Amanda's hands and a purse into Richie's. "Accessories make the man," Joe whispered, trying to control his laughing.

The three shared conspiratual grins, then Amanda and Richie set about accessorizing Methos. When Duncan returned, he nearly burst out laughing. "Perfect," he whispered, taking several pictures.

"So, when do you think he'll wake up?" Joe mused, sipping his third cup of coffee.

"I'm not sure. He ended up drinking most of his brew, but he's also used to it," Duncan mused. "It could be hours."

Amanda perked up. "I know a way to wake him up."

"Amanda," Duncan groaned softly, holding her arm.

"Not _that_ silly," she assured Duncan, then retreated to the bathroom. Seconds later, they all heard the shower go on.

"Oh, man, he's going to kill us," Richie predicted as Amanda came tearing out of the bathroom and scooted behind Duncan.

"No, he's going to kill Amanda. We had nothing to do with it," Duncan looked to the ceiling, sipping his coffee.

"Right," Joe chimed in, raising his mug in a toast as Methos' high pitched scream nearly shattered their eardrums.

"I am going to kill you, Amanda!" Methos growled, the bathroom door bouncing against the wall as he exited the bathroom.

Four sets of eyes turned to Methos, and everyone burst into laughter.

Methos stood dripping on the floor, Amanda's dress clinging to him in wet splotches, the toilet paper hanging around his shoulders like a bedraggled boa. His carefully applied lipstick was smeared, and the blush was streaking down his cheeks. One of Amanda's shoes was clutched in his hand, and he waved it threateningly at her as he vowed, "I will get even for this, Amanda Devereux. By all that is holy, I will have my revenge." He glared at the men, then added, "And don't think you'll get away so easy either, my friends." He stomped back into the bathroom, limping as he still had on one of Amanda's heels. The door slammed, and the group laughed harder.

"I think that made this killer headache worthwhile," Joe mused, raising his mug of coffee in a toast.

The three Immortals raised their mugs as well, saying, "Cheers."

"And let's hope that next year's party is just as good," Richie chimed in. At the incredulous stares he received, he shrugged. "How often do you get to see a five thousand year old Immortal done up better than RuPaul?"

"True. True," Amanda threw her arm around Richie, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "And dahling, you should go into cosmetics. That lipstick looked simply divine!"

Richie blushed. "Well, thanks, I think. But you _did_ supply the color."

"You two are evil," Duncan hissed. "Remind me never to get drunk around you again."

Richie looked at Amanda. "I won't remember to remind him. Will you?"

Amanda winked. "Nope. Sorry MacLeod; you'll just have to suffer like the rest of us."

Joe shook his head, seeing Duncan's pleading look turn to him. "Uh-uh Mac. You're on your own. I've got my own hide to look after."

The door to the bathroom flew open again, and Methos raged, "Will _someone_ get me my _clothes_!"

The gang cracked up again, and played keep-away with Methos' clothes.


End file.
